


Yellow Chair

by geekmama



Series: Time of the Season [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 16:05:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9392672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekmama/pseuds/geekmama
Summary: Furniture shopping for poor blown up 221B.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Part three, 350 words for the 'Summer' prompt...
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“Oh, I like this!”

“A yellow chair?” Sherlock gives her a look. “You would.”

“It’s not yellow,” Molly objects. “It’s more of a soft gold, well within your color palette--”

“My _color palette?_ ” He rolls his eyes.

“Yes! You _do_ have one. Such a pretty brocade.” She carefully sits on the chair, bounces some. “Very comfortable, and it’ll look lovely in that space between the doors. And it’s not too large -- easy to move when you have lots of guests.”

He raises one brow.

She smirks. “You know Mrs. Hudson will want to have a housewarming.”

“It’s _my_ house!”

“It’s your _flat_ , her house. And you wouldn’t deny her such a treat, when it was you who got it blown up. _Again_.”

He starts to protest, but gives it up. Sniffs, resigned. “Get up and let me try it.”

He makes a show of it; studies the chair’s construction; frowns over the color; peers about the shop as though hoping to catch sight of something preferable. Finally he says, grudgingly, “Alright. But only if we get that, too.” He points to a small, many-drawered oval cabinet sitting about ten feet away, built of wood that’s a deeper gold than the chair.

They walk over to inspect the cabinet. It’s beautifully crafted; the drawers are solid and slide smoothly. “They lock, too,” says Sherlock with approval. “And… _look at this!_ ” He grins in delight at his discovery of a secret compartment in the top drawer.

“Just what you need,” Molly says, very wry.

He looks over his shoulder at her. “You know I’m doing well.”

She softens her expression. “I know.”

“But for emergency cigarettes--”

“Sherlock!”

“Or other things. _You_ know.”

“I suppose.” She looks round the back and finds the price.“Expensive!”

He straightens, content. “That settles it. Mycroft’s paying, and I _deserve_ a cabinet like this. And we’ll get your chair, too. That’s not precisely dirt cheap, either.”

Guilt assails her. “Oh, dear. Do you think he’ll mind?”

He starts to laugh, but seeing her expression, damps down his glee. “For you? No, Molly. He won't mind at all.”

 

~.~


End file.
